


So Long As You Call Me Yours

by thirdsister



Series: If Only [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, F/M, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdsister/pseuds/thirdsister
Summary: Steve/Natasha selkie Scottish folktale AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for romanogersweek Day 3. Prompt "beaches and sunsets"

A great tempest raged on the day The Widow came to the island. Some folk go so far as to say she brought the storm with her. Some say she’s blessed, that some angel or fae guided her ship safely to the island’s shores. Others say she _is_ the storm. They whisper, “dead husband. Do you know how he died? No one does! She doesn’t say! Big city accent, Glasgow by the sound of it. And a foreign name” The wisest folk though, the wisest say nothing at all. They watch. They wait. They know what the start of a good tale sounds like. The wisest folk listen. 

The sea had been calling her whole life. When her husband died, she was finally free to answer. She didn’t know what the Outer Hebridean island of Vatersay would hold for her, but she did know she wanted to find out. Her fondest memory was a childhood trip to the Outer Hebrides, and if she stayed in the city she’d have to fend off offers of marriage from men intent on securing her late husband’s business for themselves. So she packed a case, and took herself, her modest fortune, and her particular set of skills to Vatersay. She wore black out of custom, but when asked about her late husband she would say only “he wasn’t the kind of man the world will miss.” 

Natasha didn’t mind the whispers or the looks she got from her new neighbors. They would either warm to her or they wouldn’t. After all, she had everything she needed. A cottage to herself and a view of the sea, white sand beaches and crystal blue water so clear you could see straight to the bottom. She had books, the stars on a cloudless night, her fiddle to play, and good whiskey to drink. She had west facing windows for watching the sunsets. Sunset quickly became her favorite time of day. There hadn’t been colors like this in the city. 

She was watching the sun melt into the ocean one day when she noticed a man walking along the beach. It was unusual for two reasons: one, her neighbors came by rarely and never unannounced, two, the man was stark naked. It was a surprise, to be sure, but not a wholly unwelcome one. She hadn’t seen that much of a man’s flesh since her husband passed, and what a sight this man was! Tall and muscular with broad shoulders. He looked to be fair haired, but it was difficult to tell in the fading light. _Where in heaven and earth did you come from?_ She thought. She decided she should be neighborly and offer him a blanket. Walking the beach this close to nightfall without a stitch of clothing, he must have been very cold and very lost. _Or_ she hesitated _very mad_. She decided she could be both cautious and charitable and tucked a knife into her bodice as she retrieved her least favorite blanket. 

By the time she opened the back door to call out to the man, he was gone. There was no sign he’d been there to begin with. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps the handsome naked stranger had been only a trick of the light. The Widow resolved not to give it too much thought. Her waking mind obeyed her dutifully, but the same couldn't be said of her sleeping self. 

Seven suns rose and set before she saw him again. In the flesh, anyway. She saw him every night in her dreams. She was sure a dream was all he’d ever been. The product of isolation and an overactive imagination. She was sitting on rock on the beach, playing her fiddle as the sun got low and the sky exploded into oranges, pinks, and purples when she felt the sudden sensation of being watched. She ceased the movement of her bow and took her eyes off the horizon. That’s when she heard it, a voice from a ways down the beach.

“No need to stop on my account, lass. I like hearing you play.” His voice was gentle, calm, and bright with mirth like waters on a windless say. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew it was him before she turned her head. She hoped he’d be dressed this time. No such luck. She gently set her fiddle on the rock and pulled off her shawl which she balled up and threw at him.

He looked down at the fabric as if puzzled. “Go on then, cover your bits. And I’m not a lass.”

“If you say so.” He did as he was bid, draping the black cloth around his hips. Now that he was somewhat covered, she turned her entire body to face him. He was closer now and she could see that he was indeed fair haired with eyes so blue they looked like sea in miniature. He was strange, to be sure, but he didn’t seem mad. 

“Where have you come from dressed in nothing at all?”

“Home.”

“Which is where?” 

He gestured out toward the water. She wrinkled her brows, _he must mean one of the neighboring islands, though we’re about as far west as you could go. He must mean north. Probably come down from Barra for a laugh._ “and how exactly did you get here?”

“I swam.”

“That explains the nakedness then. You’re not cold? That water is near frigid on the warmest days.”

He chuckled, “I’m accustomed to it.”

“Well, I should get going before the light disappears completely.”

“Before you go, play me a tune. Please?”

“Alright then,” There were worse ways to spend a few minutes than playing a tune for a stranger, even if that stranger happened to be dressed in nothing but her shawl. It was nice to have a willing audience. It was nice, though she hated to admit it, to have the company. “What do you want to hear?”

He smiled as he gazed out over the water. “Do you have one that sounds like sunset?”

She didn’t say a word; she just began to play. First it was soft and sweet and barely audible. Then it grew bright and fast and joyful. Eventually it resolved into something deep and slow and almost melancholy. By the time she finished, dusk had settled on the island and The Widow could hardly see a path down from the rock she was perched upon.

“Lovely.” He mused. “I’m sorry to have kept you so late. Are you quite stuck?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m stuck, just a wee bit wary of climbing down one handed in the near dark.”

“I see well enough in the darkness. Let me help you.”

He came to the rock and offered her his hand. She gathered the fiddle and bow under one arm and took his hand with her other. “Is it clear enough for me to jump?” 

“You’ll get your toes wet, the tide is coming in, but the path is clear of rocks.”

So she jumped. She gasped slightly as her bare feet hit the cold water. She could feel him smiling at the sound. 

“Well, thanks for the assistance.”

He dropped her hand. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

She was hesitant to let the stranger know where she lived. She was, after all, a woman living alone and he was a man she hardly knew. But then again, in her old life she’d become quite skilled at spotting those who might do her harm. She’d had to in order to survive. This man, though, he didn’t give off any of the telltale signs. It was a risk, sure, but her life had always been full of risks. So she let the mostly naked stranger walk her to the back door of the cottage where he made a motion to remove the shawl. 

“You can keep it.”

“I can’t take it back in the water with me.”

“You’re going to swim home in the dark?”

“I’m accustomed to it.” 

Before she could open her mouth to protest he had put the shawl in her hands and set off in the direction from which he’d initially come. How strange he was. How strange she felt to wish he hadn’t gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fortnight passed and the only place Natasha saw the stranger was in her dreams. Each day he read her books and played her music and kept herself busy. Each night at sunset she walked the beach eyes glued to the horizon. Searching for something she dared not name. It was on one such walk that she found the pelt. 

A perfect seal pelt lying on the shore. She bent down and picked it up. Silver, slate, speckled and soft as silk. She looked around for a sign of someone who might have left this perfect pelt behind, but there was no one. She couldn’t just leave it there to be swept up by the incoming tide, so as the light began to fade, she draped the seal skin over her arm and made her way back to the cottage. It was the only logical choice. 

It was barely dawn when she was awoken by a knock at the cottage door. The knocking became more and more insistent making it clear that there was no time to get fully dressed. She threw a thick wool shawl over her night clothes before throwing open the door.

There on her doorstep was the stranger. Naked as before. Rendered even more handsome in the soft morning light.

“I believe you have something of mine, lass” He said with an easy smile.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes were still bleary with sleep. She wasn’t entirely certain that she was in fact awake at all. Perhaps that’s why she allowed the stranger into her house.

“My pelt, love, if you please”

“Oh the seal skin! That’s yours? Wait a moment and I’ll grab it.” 

It only took a moment for her to fetch the pelt and bring it back to him. He touched her hand gingerly as she held it out to him. It was clearly precious. He regarded her curiously as he took it back into his possession.

“You don’t even know what it was you had, do you?”

“Is it valuable? I’m sorry, I didn’t see you or anyone else around and it was just sitting on the beach. It seemed wasteful to leave it there. I apologize if I’ve caused you distress. Can I, would you mind covering up a bit?” She handed him a thick blanket. Obligingly he wrapped himself in it like a cloak. 

“Very warm, thank you, love.”

She bristled slightly. She was fully awake now and it was dawning on her that the stranger had invited himself into her house and called her “love” twice. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me ‘love’”

“What shall I call you then?”

“Natasha.”

“Natasha” He said her name like he was testing out the syllables, “Natasha” he said it again with confidence, he moved closer “Natasha” he dropped his voice low, a whispered prayer. The blood in her veins answered him, bringing a flutter to her heart and a rosiness to her cheeks. 

“And your name is?”

“Where are my manners, I thought you knew. You’ve been calling me all this time.”

She tilted her head in confusion. Then her eyes grew wide and it hit her all at once, he’s come looking for a seal pelt. The man before her wasn’t a man at all, or rather, he wasn’t merely a man. “Selkie” she whispered, barely audible.

“Aye.” His gaze met hers, “Shall I play you my name then?” She nodded. He picked up her fiddle and played a low, mournful note. It had wound its way into every tune she’d played while staring out at the sea. It had been her head as long as she could remember. She had always felt the sea calling and this was the answer. No wonder he’d shown up on her doorstep, she’d been playing his name in every song. 

She took the fiddle from his hands and set it down. For a moment the woman and the selkie just looked at each other unsure of what to do next. She leaned up on her tiptoes and placed a hand on his jaw, encouraging him to lean down. She captured his lips with her own. He tasted like salt, and sweet, and open waters. He tasted like freedom and west winds and home. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her body to his own. 

When they broke apart she looked up at him thoughtfully. “I’m not much of a singer. When I’m talking, what should I call you?”

“I don’t so much care what you call me, so long as you call me yours.”

“Then I think I’ll call you Steven. It suits you.”

“If you like, Natasha.” He grinned. She was quickly growing to love the sound of her name on his lips. 

“Are you mine, then?” She asked. She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it aloud. She wanted to hear him say all kinds of things. Curses, oaths, and prayers. And her name, over and over again.

“Yes. I am. So long as you’ll have me.” 

“I’ll have you so long as you like. So long as you’re free and happy. Am I yours?” She knew the rules, if she were to take and hide his pelt she could keep him. He’d be unable to return to the sea. But she also knew from experience that a love which wasn’t free to walk out wasn’t a love at all. She had no interest in control or being controlled and anyone who wished to be a part of the life she’d made for herself would need to feel the same. 

“Oh yes. You’re mine, so long as you wish to be. So long as you’re free and happy. That’ll be always, if I have any say about it.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“It’s settled then. I am yours and you are mine.”

“It’s settled. I’ll have you now, if you have no objections,” He whispered in her ear as he slowly removed her wool shawl.

“I’d object if you didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are tons of european folk tales about fae spouses and typically the ones that get retold are about fae wives who tend to have no personality other than "perfection" and the great tragedy of the tale is that the human husband messes up the one rule of having a fae wife and loses her. So I wanted to subvert the dominant narrative in two ways, first by having the fae spouse be a man and second by having the human spouse be uninterested in possessing the fae spouse. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr[ here ](http://thirdsisfics.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined. If you liked this story, you might enjoy the other folk tale inspired works I have planned for the rest of Romanogers Week.


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